


blue satin

by blackeyedblonde



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Short & Sweet, Undercover, body glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/pseuds/blackeyedblonde
Summary: It was a gamble even being here, and they’d probably gone undercover for nothing considering the guy was too smart to show his face when there was an outstanding warrant put out for him in the entire tri-state area, but that was precinct dollars at work. Hank supposes he could be doing a lot worse with his time. Now only if he could fucking find Connor—“Hey there, handsome,” a familiar voice croons from his right. Hank’s head spins so fast he probably just gave himself whiplash, and when he turns he finds himself looking into the familiar brown eyes of his partner. “You must be looking for a good time tonight.”
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 305





	blue satin

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a longggggg time ago, in the early days of my HankCon fandom career, but never shared it here on AO3. Figured it was time to post while I was thinking about it! The original is still on my tumblr page @honkforhankcon :)

  
  
The Eden Club definitely ain’t what it used to be.

Hank walks up and down the dimly-lit corridor while bass music thumps under his boots, eyes open and alert but not quite making direct visual contact with any of the androids or their human counterparts lounging around the common area. He can feel himself being watched, sized up, and measured—oddly out of more desire or curiosity than any real suspicion. A topless female android draped in gold body chains tries to call him over but Hank only smiles and keeps walking. A few feet later a young man with shrewd green eyes compliments his leather jacket and asks if he wants to be a _biker daddy_ for the night.

“Uh—no thanks, man,” Hank manages to get out without choking, but quickly remembers his undercover post and winks. “Maybe some other time.”

The modular rental booths from before are long gone and the androids still working at Eden are here only because they _want_ to be, much to Hank’s disbelief. Some of them were originally designed as sexual partners and others drifted in after the revolution, domestics and maintenance workers and thinkers whose deviancy pointed them toward sex work instead. Maybe they simply enjoyed it. Maybe it gave them firmer control over their bodies and the freedom to use them however they pleased—peace, love, and hippie sexual liberation all over again. Whatever the case, they keep and count their own money these days, only paying house dues to the new club owner for utilizing the shared space. The standard uniforms from before have also disappeared and when a long-legged gal wearing nothing but a rhinestone thong and a lime green buzz cut passes Hank he feels a little like he’s at the Moulin Rouge instead of downtown Detroit, truth be fucking told—but she’s still not who he’s looking for tonight.

Hank’s got his eyes peeled for one android and one android alone, and if he doesn’t hurry up and make an appearance, Hank doesn’t know how they’re going to make this undercover shit work. He’s always been a good cop but he never was much of one for acting, and if they want to catch their man he’s going to need someone to help him _act_ , for Christ’s sake.

Eden’s slow for a Tuesday night and only half the private rooms are in use. Hank scans the patrons and workers mingling about, always looking for signs of their suspect in his peripherals. The guy’s name is Augie Bernthal, poor bastard. But whatever he lacked in a street name he made up in red ice sales and distribution. DPD had been trying to nail him down for months to no avail—the guy slipped through cracks like curls of smoke, and the only lead they could get on him is that his favorite android still worked nights at the club.

Why such an elusive and wanted criminal would risk bouncing around town for some android dick, Hank doesn’t really know. Well, he does know. Yeah—he _knows_ , but he still had to act surprised about it in the case briefing with Fowler. This is their last shot to catch Bernthal with his pants around his knees, both figuratively and literally, because word on the street seems to be he’s planning on moving his ice operation to Moscow in the coming weeks. Everybody at DPD is just hoping the guy gets horny enough to make an appearance at Eden for some quality nookie time before he splits.

He’d probably be in a disguise, Hank figures. Connor had surmised as much and downloaded Bernthal’s bone structure analysis and even his natural hair texture and dental records to make more thorough scans while they were sleuthing around between suspects. It was a gamble even being here, and they’d probably gone undercover for nothing considering the guy was too smart to show his face when there was an outstanding warrant out for him in the entire tri-state area, but that was precinct dollars at work. Hank supposes he could be doing a lot worse with his time. Now only if he could fucking find Connor—

“Hey there, handsome,” a familiar voice croons from his right. Hank’s head spins so fast he probably just gave himself whiplash, and when he turns he finds himself looking into the familiar brown eyes of his partner. “You must be looking for a good time tonight.”

Hank wants to die, listening to Connor’s approximation of whatever dirty talk this is, but damn if that silky blues voice he’s using doesn’t go straight to his dick. Even more than that, when his eyes wander far enough south to take in the getup Connor’s chosen to wear for their undercover gig, Hank nearly swallows his own tongue.

Underneath an open silk robe Connor is naked except for blue satin panties and a garter belt strung with sheer stockings that go up to his thighs. He’s doused himself in some kind of body glitter and combed it back through his hair and smeared some along the high points of his cheeks and eyelids. No shoes to be found, just bare feet and stocking seams for as far as Hank can see.

“You like?” Connor asks playfully, splaying a hand against Hank’s chest as he flutters his lashes. He leans in close and mouths against Hank’s ear, just low enough for the two of them. “Augie Bernthal is in the room behind me, but he’s paid for a 45-minute session and we have approximately 29 minutes and 14 seconds left to make ourselves look busy. He’s brought two associates to keep lookout and they’ve already asked me for a dance, but I told them I had a client arriving shortly for a private viewing.”

Hank’s broad hand immediately reaches down to possessively curve around the sculpted muscle of Connor’s ass. Connor presses the full line of his body into Hank’s side and reaches up to play with a tendril of hair fallen free from the older man’s ponytail. He slides his stocking foot up the back of Hank’s leg and oh, mercy, if Hank makes it out of here in one piece tonight it might be a miracle, Augie Bernthal be damned.

“Let’s go to a room,” Connor purrs, this time loud enough for the other men to hear. He presses his mouth to the strip of warm skin peeking above Hank’s jacket collar and makes eyes at whoever’s watching behind them, LED flashing blue. “Twenty minutes long enough for you, big boy?”

Hank is dying inside but runs his hand up the back of Connor’s thigh and snaps one of the garter clips loose. He rucks the silk robe up, too, and shows off the tight handful of Connor’s asscheek he’s got. When he looks down at his shirtfront he sees he’s already covered in glitter.

“Lead the way, baby,” he says, and curls his fingers in Connor’s as he lets himself be pulled into one of the private rooms. When Hank’s input his session time and fed his department credit card into the machine the door whirs shut, and as soon as it’s closed he turns his attention back to Connor.

“Are you sure this is going to work out the way you’re planning?” he asks, letting Connor back him up against the wall with a knee between his thighs. Connor laughs so sweetly and then his familiar voice is back, none of the put-on floosy shit from before.

“Absolutely, Lieutenant,” he says, but still nips at the underside of Hank’s jaw and pops the first button of his shirt open all at once. “I’ve calculated a 99.998% success rate for our mission so long as we exit this room within the allotted time frame.”

Hank’s lizard brain is currently winning out over his cop brain, little by little, and he doesn’t want to fight it anymore. Not when they’ve got twenty-something minutes to kill and Connor has the audacity to show up in all _this_.

“Did you pick this out yourself?” he asks gruffly, slipping a finger under the shoulder of Connor’s robe and gently pulling until it slides off. “You always look nice in blue.”

“Mmhmm,” Connor answers, seamlessly shrugging the other shoulder off so the silk falls and pools around his feet like water. “Do you like it?”

“That and more, darlin’,” Hank says, and then lifts Connor up in his arms so the android’s long legs can wrap around his waist. He carries him across the room and sits on the edge of the club bed so Connor is settled in his lap, hands already wrapped around the back of Hank’s neck.

“You look rather handsome yourself, Lieutenant,” Connor says, pretending to straighten the collar on Hank’s leather jacket. The buckles and zippers on the damn thing clink and jingle every time Hank moves, and they both already know Connor’s stockings will be torn to shreds by the time they leave this room.

Hank runs the tip of his thumb along the edge of Connor’s garter belt, grazing the skin there and earning a little hiss for his effort. “Maybe I’ll retire it from the undercover closet,” he says, groaning as Connor’s hips rock forward in his lap. “Bring it home for you to play with.”

“I would like that,” Connor says, and then wastes no time with reaching down to press the heel of his hand against Hank’s crotch. “If we’re going to make appropriate use of our time, I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry up and fuck me.”

“Easy tiger,” Hank growls, feeling Connor’s cool fingertips slide under his hemline and trail along the soft warmth of his stomach. He shivers at the touch but smiles against Connor’s mouth when his partner kisses him anyway. “You’ll have to get another one of these for at home.”

“Already bought it,” Connor says as he undoes the rest of the buttons on Hank’s silk overshirt, LED flashing between blue and yellow as he sends in his order. “In another shade of sky blue and a nice marigold yellow.”

“Perfect,” Hank says, and then throws his head back as Connor sucks a gentle love bite into the hollow of his throat.

The clock ticks down and it all unravels from there.

Connor balances himself in Hank’s lap and outright keens like a wounded bird when Hank’s fingers pull the crotch and ass of the panties aside to explore beyond the satin. His middle finger swirls around Connor’s hole and finds it already slick, thank _fuck_ , sweet and slippery enough to press inside right then and there. Connor’s cock is leaking an artificial wet spot into the blue satin of his panties and Hank’s own dick has been out and ready to go for at least the past two minutes, but the rest of his clothes are still in place except for his unbuttoned shirt.

“Leave it,” he rasps when Connor tries to tug his leather jacket off. He’s already broiling hot but can’t find any good reason to give a shit. “We don’t have the time.”

And so Connor’s fingers curl and grip a handful of silver chest hair when Hank thrusts up into the tightness of his body, slamming Connor’s ass down onto his cock hard enough that his vision blurs with pinpricks of light and colorful stars.

Hank gets both hands around Connor’s hips and keeps pulling him up and down in some feverish primal rhythm, urged along by Connor’s breathy little moans and ever-louder cries of “Hank, _Hank!_ ” The angle is too good to be true but Hank knows he can’t keep this up, heart already hammering a mile a minute behind his ribs. Connor’s trying to climb him like a fire pole but slides back down to the base of his cock every time, hands grappling for purchase while one of his stockings pops loose and rolls down to his calf.

Standing with Connor still wrapped around him, Hank does an about-face with whatever strength he has left in his legs and then drops them both back onto the bad, Connor pinned up underneath his weight and writhing.

The android’s LED stutters between yellow and red before cycling back to staccato _blue-yellow-blue_ , each flash of gold lining up with every new thrust Hank rams into his ass. Connor digs a heel into the small of Hank’s back hard enough to bruise and pulls him down for another kiss, limbs clamped around Hank’s body in a vice. Hank slows his hips down to an easy grind and it makes Connor halfway crazy, nearly every swear word he knows going through rapid-fire rotation in his voice box as his inner chassis begins to shake with pleasure and exertion. 

“Look at you, beautiful,” Hank groans into the crook between Connor’s neck and shoulder. “Sure got a dirty mouth for somebody so gorgeous.”

They’ve been partners in more ways than one for well over a year now, but Connor’s LED still sparkles between red and blue like a firework when he hears that. _Somebody._

Not something, anymore—someone. It makes Hank feel like his heart is going to burst out of him all at once. He hopes he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest and die in this place before their timer runs out.

For now, Hank can feel Connor’s cock pressed between their bellies, caught up in the slip and slide of hot satin. He can’t quite reach between them to help bring Connor off with his hand, but in the end he doesn’t need to because another two deep thrusts hit whatever sick genius put pleasure sensors up the android’s ass and Connor’s equivalent of an orgasm punches out of him like a gunshot. His body clenches and wrenches around Hank and then he’s coming all in a mess between them, ruining the panties and spurting a pearly mess onto Hank’s poor silk shirt.

After that Hank’s helpless to hold on any longer and only braces himself in the bed, pumping back into Connor’s sated body until he climaxes with a shudder and a broken sound low in his chest. He immediately eases down into Connor’s open and waiting arms and lays there breathing hard, hearing the faint but telltale sound of a cooling thirium pump whirring somewhere under his ear.

“Connor,” Hank wheezes after a minute or two of whatever afterglow this is, the two of them playing dress-up in a horny sex club in downtown Detroit while a wanted felon gets his nut off in the room next door. Shit, he wouldn’t have traded it for the world, either. “How much time is there left on the clock?”

Hank can hear the smile in Connor’s voice when he speaks, running his fingers through all the hair fallen out of Hank’s ponytail. “We ran out of time a minute and forty-two seconds ago.”

“WHAT!” Hank shouts, nearly falling off the bed in his scramble to get up and pull himself together. The vision of a fucked-out Connor with his legs still spread isn’t making things any easier. “Bernthal, we—shit? _Fuck!_ ”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” Connor says with a cheeky little smile. He sits up and Hank watches his LED do that thing it does when he makes an internal communication. “Augie Bernthal is outside waiting for us.”

Hank does his best to zip his leather jacket up over his stained shirt and fumbles half his hair back into its tie. He grabs Connor’s forgotten robe off the floor and throws it back over to him and barely waits until his partner is decent before stumbling out the private room’s doorway and back into the thumping bass of the club.

Augie Bernthal is there, alright, half-naked and cuffed where he sits on the floor with a bloody nose and his two goons. The other patrons and workers are gone but Gavin Reed and Connor’s austere steel-eyed twin are there as well, looking far too chuffed with their fresh triple-arrest. Gavin’s nose wrinkles when he sees Hank but he lets out a lewd wolf whistle.

“Get a little distracted on your mission, Anderson?” he asks, but Hank doesn’t miss how he elbows Nines in the side. “Where’s your glorified toaster boy?”

The sneer is wiped off Gavin’s face when Connor walks out of the room in nothing but his torn stockings and loosely sashed robe, still doused in head-to-toe body glitter. “Detective Reed, Nines,” Connor greets amiably, the perfect picture of bright professionalism despite what he and Hank just finished doing in the other room. “Thank you for assisting with the apprehension.”

Nines nods at Hank and Connor before addressing the Lieutenant. “Connor relayed the suspect’s location to me and suggested that you were currently otherwise, uh, preoccupied with your mission.”

Gavin snorts but quickly goes back to logging a report in on his tablet, cheeks somewhat more colored under the neon lighting. “I’ll fuckin’ say.”

Hank’s whole body sags in both exhaustion and relief. He’d rather he and Connor brought Bernthal in single handedly, but then again, maybe his blaze-of-glory days were a little too far behind him now. It was a wild success for DPD nonetheless. He turns to Connor and gives him a sideways look, trying to be stern but not quite managing to keep the smile from twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Connor says, heavy lids glittering under the club lights.

“Put a rush on that order you made,” Hank says, quickly winking at his partner. “Guess we’ll need it sooner than I thought.”  
  
  



End file.
